Don't Stop
by Snafu1000
Summary: Two little words. A feeling she couldn't deny. Alternate ending to 'Melt My Heart To Stone'.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Yup. Snafu writes Rizzles. I go where the plot bunnies drag me. 'Sins of the Fathers' will continue as non-Rizzles, and future offerings may be either one or the other, depending on the muse in question._

_And KalenCaelli: stop smirking, damn it._

_The usual disclaimers apply: Gerritsen, Tamaro & TNT own it all._

* * *

"_You must think you're real smart, huh, detective?" Dennis Rockmond taunted Jane Rizzoli, keeping Maura Isles between himself and the three guns trained on him, the edge of his knife almost touching the doctor's throat._

_Jane shook her head. "No, just lucky. You're much smarter than us." She wanted to kill the bastard, pull the trigger until there were no more bullets left for the look of terror on Maura's face, the tears in her eyes, but she didn't dare. She had to placate him, kiss his ass, do whatever it took to get him to let her best friend go. Then she'd kill him._

"_You're damn right," he shot back. "Not even the genius Dr. Isles could keep up with me!" The knife pressed against the skin and Maura let out a sob._

"_Please!"_

"_Begging?" He grinned at her. "Keep begging." His grin shifted to Jane. "God, I love it when they beg." The mask that he'd worn all this time had dropped; the smooth, cultured, confident motivational speaker was gone. His face was flushed and sweaty, his expression an ugly mix of glee, anger and fear. Like most of his kind, he needed to have his work recognized, his talents known, but they had interrupted him before he could complete his "finest piece of work"._

_Too fucking bad._

_I'll make you beg, you bastard, Jane thought grimly, but all thoughts of vengeance stopped cold as Rockmond dragged Maura in front of the open elevator shaft, a three story drop directly behind them._

"_No! No, wait! Look!" Jane holstered her gun, held up her empty hands, aware of Frost and Korsak doing the same. "We're in your hands, all right? We're all in your hands." Get Maura away from him. If he escaped, they could chase him down, but she had to get that knife away from Maura's throat, get him to step away from the drop._

_Rockmond looked around warily, visibly dismissing Vince and Barry, his eyes coming back to Jane. "You found my mother's hand?"_

_She nodded. "Yeah."_

_He swallowed. "You understand why I had to take both of them, right?" He watched her, pleading for the answer, for understanding. For her to tell him that he wasn't a lowlife piece of shit._

_She gave it. "So she couldn't hurt you any more." Whatever it took, whatever he wanted to hear, Jane would give it to him. She'd let him go, if that's what it took. Maura was all that mattered._

_He nodded, his face twisting into a wretched parody of self pity. "I left my creations at all the places I wanted to go with my mommy," he said spitefully, edging backward another step, dragging Maura with him._

"_No, wait!" Jane did a bit of edging of her own, gauging the distance. He wasn't trying to run; he had another end game in mind. "Why hurt Maura? Come on." It didn't fit. His mother had been an abusive monster; the women he'd killed had treated their own children similarly, but Maura had never hurt a soul. She had saved his life._

_Saved his life._

_That realization clicked in her mind in the same instant that his expression twisted into one of despairing fury._

"_Because her healing hands brought me back to this earth! That's why!"_

_He'd tried to kill himself after murdering his mother. And Maura had saved his life, returned him to an existence he'd wanted to end. And now he was going to kill himself and take her with him; Jane could see it in his face as he kept spewing his justifications. No words were going to change his mind. She had to act._

_He stepped back, gravity taking over. Maura screamed, reaching out as Jane lunged forward. Her hand caught Maura's -_

_- and slipped._

_Maura's scream rose into a wail of terror as Rockmond dragged her into the shaft with him._

* * *

Jane jerked awake, her heart slamming in her chest, breath caught in her throat as she fought her way free of the nightmare. God knew she'd had enough practice, but it never seemed to get any easier.

_Just a dream. Not real._ She kept telling herself that, over and over. Rockmond was dead, Maura was alive, sleeping beside her; she hadn't wanted to be alone tonight, so after Angela had taken the baby for the night, Jane had stayed with Maura, talking quietly about baby supplies, names, paternity tests – anything but what had happened in Rockmond's flat. She must have drifted off, Jane realized. She hadn't thought it would be possible, after the nonstop adrenaline dump of that day, and she wished like hell that she hadn't.

She lay still, waiting for her heartrate to slow, hoping she hadn't disturbed Maura's sleep. Maura was the one who had been through hell tonight; she didn't need to deal with Jane's bad dreams.

Maura was alive...right? Christ, it had felt so real, and her heart started hammering again.

_Just a dream, damn it._ But she found herself reaching out, turning her head so she could see the outline in the bed beside her, illuminated by the moonlight through the window. Breathing. Alive. Relief washed through her, and she withdrew her hand just before it made contact, not wanting to risk disturbing her friend's much needed sleep. But then, the figure drew a hitching, shuddering breath, and Jane realized that Maura was not sleeping.

"Maur?" Jane pushed herself up on an elbow, feeling a stab of guilt. She'd fallen asleep, leaving Maura to face her demons alone. "Maura?"

"I'm sorry," Maura sniffled. "I was trying not to wake you." She had curled into a ball, huddled into herself, facing away from Jane.

"Jesus, why?" Jane reached out, trying to turn her, but Maura resisted, keeping her face pressed into the pillow. "That's why I'm here, sweetie." She wrapped her arms around her friend, drawing her back against her body, feeling the tremors shaking the petite frame, and she wished that Rockmond had survived, so she could kill him herself, with her bare hands. "It's all right. You're safe."

"N-no. I'm still there." The quiet despair in Maura's voice tore something in Jane's heart, and she tugged and pulled until Maura finally turned, huddling into the detective's taller form and hanging on tight. "I can still feel his hands on me." She'd been in the shower for nearly an hour when they'd gotten home, emerging with her skin reddened from scrubbing and hot water.

"They're not," Jane told her, running her own hands over Maura's back and shoulders, stroking her hair, pulling her even closer and wrapping herself around her, trying to do what she should have done: shield this gentle, trusting soul from anyone and anything who would hurt her. She kissed the top of Maura's head tenderly. "He'll never touch you again."

"I can still feel the knife on my throat," Maura whispered, her face pressed against Jane's shoulder.

"It's not," Jane promised her, brushing another kiss over her temple, her cheek, then instinctively dipping her head to press her lips to the spot on Maura's neck where the edge of the knife had rested. She didn't know whether the gesture was meant to reassure Maura or herself, but Maura's sudden, soft intake of breath hit her like a dash of cold water.

_What are you doing?_

She started to pull back, to offer an awkward apology, but Maura's arms tightened, pulling, and she abruptly found herself on top of the medical examiner, held there with a strength that Jane hadn't realized her best friend possessed and looking into hazel eyes that were luminous in the moonlight.

"Don't stop." The two words were little more than a breath: part plea, part command, and impossible to deny. Jane swallowed against a mouth that had suddenly gone desert-dry, and lowered her head, pressing gentle, careful kisses over Maura's face, tasting the salt of tears, feeling the satin softness of Maura's skin. Comforting her friend: that's what she was doing, right? She kept telling herself that until Maura caught her face in her hands and guided their lips together.

So easy. Like breathing, falling, coming home. Maura's fingers tangling in her hair, soft lips parting, inviting, the kiss slow and unhurried, deepening as their tongues tasted, explored, twined. They parted reluctantly, breath mingling, and Jane stared wonderingly into the face that she knew as well as her own, seeing it in an entirely new light that had nothing to do with the moon's silvered gleam.

"Tell me." These words uttered as softly as the others had been, another mix of entreaty and order, no less impossible to resist, and Jane did not have to ask what she meant.

"I love you," Jane whispered, feeling the full truth of it winding its way around her heart, sinking its roots deep into her soul. She knew, had always known somewhere inside, from the earliest days of their friendship. The possibility had hovered unacknowledged between them for so long, both of them willing to be content with what they had, because it was more than they'd ever had before.

It wasn't enough now, might never be enough again, and that buried truth was the thing that had kept Jane from even contemplating reaching for more. There was no going back from this point, no returning to easy friendship, drinks at the Robber, movie nights on one couch or the other, sharing a bed and talking until they fell asleep side by side as unselfconsciously as a pair of twelve-year-olds. There was only fusion...or shattering.

"Don't stop," Maura whispered again, fingers tracing the lines of her face, intercepting the runaway train of her fears, reading her as easily as she'd always been able to. "I love you, too, and I need this. I need you. Don't stop. Please?"

She couldn't refuse. Didn't even want to try. "I won't," she promised, her thumb gently brushing away a last tear from Maura's cheek as their lips met again.

* * *

_A.N. - One more chapter from Maura's POV, I think.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Jane was asleep.

Maura kept reminding herself of this as she tried to keep her tears as silent as possible. It had been well past midnight by the time Lydia's baby had accepted his last bottle and diaper change and been carried to the guest house by Angela and Tommy. Between Lydia going into labor and having to save Maura from her own poor judgment, Jane had to be exhausted. She didn't need to be disturbed by hysterics.

The comfort of her presence was blessing enough, and the only thing that had kept Maura laying here in the darkness instead of sitting up with every light in reach blazing bright. Dennis – or whatever his real name had been – was dead. She'd made herself look down the elevator shaft at his body, heard it confirmed by the paramedics who had taken it to the morgue. He'd been misdiagnosed by that venue once already, however, and if she'd been alone, it would have been all too easy for her imagination to run rampant, picturing him sitting up on the autopsy table, shrugging his way out of the body bag and making his way to Beacon Hill to finish what he'd started.

She wasn't alone, though, because Jane had stayed with her, changing into the old Red Sox jersey that she kept here for sleeping and stretching out beside her, letting her babble on about one infant-related topic after another. Just having her there was enough to quell any morbid turns of imagination, and even if he wasn't dead, even if he did come here, Jane would protect her. She was as confident of that as she was of the law of gravity.

But Jane couldn't protect her from herself, and that was the fear that had kept her awake after the detective had drifted into sleep, had made her again lose the battle with her tears. She turned away from Jane, pressing her face into her pillow, crying quietly until she felt Jane come awake with a jerk and a gasp.

A nightmare, undoubtedly. Jane had endured more than her share, and Maura had comforted her in the aftermath of any number of them, but she didn't want her friend to know she'd been crying, didn't want to add to her worries. She tried to pretend that she was asleep, lying motionless, even closing her eyes, but she couldn't manage to stifle the sobs that continued to insist upon bubbling up.

"Maur?" A shift of weight on the mattress and then the warmth of Jane's presence behind her, a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Maura?"

She hunched away from the touch, turning her face deeper into the pillow. "I'm sorry," she apologized miserably. "I was trying not to wake you."

"Jesus, why?" Jane asked, trying to get Maura to turn to face her. "That's why I'm here, sweetie." Giving up the effort, she simply wrapped her arms around the doctor from behind, drawing them together. "It's all right. You're safe."

She was...and at the same time, she wasn't. "N-no," she whispered falteringly. "I'm still there." Still feeling the delightful – and rare - combination of intellectual stimulation and sexual arousal shift in an instant to terror as Dennis revealed his intent. Still feeling his touch go from gentle to brutal. Still seeing the sudden gleam of steel. Still feeling the open shaft yawning behind her. Jane renewed her efforts, tugging stubbornly at her arm until Maura gave in and rolled over, wrapping her arms around the detective's body and burying her face in the softness of the worn jersey. She was safe now, but she couldn't stay like this forever, no matter how much she might yearn to.

"I can still feel his hands on me." He hadn't raped her; they hadn't even had consensual sex, but Dennis Rockmond had violated her on a level that felt even deeper. He had taken her trust and used it, wooing her at the same time that he was killing women and planning to murder her. And she had seen nothing, suspected nothing. To her, he had been a handsome, intelligent and talented man who had encouraged her to step out of her comfort zone, dare to do things that had made her feel energized. It had all been nothing more than a step in his game, manipulating her behavior in life as he planned to manipulate her body in death. Controlling her, as his abusive mother had controlled him.

How could she ever trust a smiling face again, knowing what could lay behind it, knowing that she might never see the truth until it was too late? She wouldn't dare, couldn't take that risk, and so she would have to cut herself off from any possibility of emotional entanglements in a sexual relationship, at precisely the point in her life that she had begun to accept her need for them.

"They're not." Jane's hands moved over her back and shoulders in a soothing cadence, the complete antithesis of Dennis' brutal grip. She was safe, and yet not, and the paradox was tearing at her. "He'll never touch you again."

It was true in a very literal sense, but Maura would have believed her no less if Rockmond had survived and escaped. No one had ever been as protective of her as Jane was. Their friendship had caused a paradigm shift in Maura's world, drawn her out of the safety of isolation, polite interactions and professional acquaintances. In Jane, she had found someone to share secrets with, to laugh with, cry with, to trust unconditionally. Someone who had accepted her as she was, but at the same time time changed her for the better by the simple fact of her presence.

It had been relatively easy to ignore the growing physical attraction to the detective, even as she had become more sure that Jane felt it, as well. Lovers had always been easy for her to attract, and the sexual act itself had little association with emotional ties. It relieved stress, boosted immunity and, with a skilled partner, was quite enjoyable. She approached it with the same practicality that she did everything else, and she had been surprised to discover that blunt, outspoken Jane was quite the prude when it came to discussing sexual matters. The choice of risking the closest relationship she'd ever had for something that she could obtain with no difficulty from other partners had required no thought at all.

At the same time, though, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like. She watched Jane's interactions with Gabriel Dean, Joey Grant, Casey Jones, realizing wistfully that once the detective formed a committed, monogamous relationship with a man, married and started a family, her relationship with Maura would almost certainly shift. They would still be friends, still be close, but not as close, and the distance would widen as the domestic demands on Jane's free time increased. She began to think about how she might fill that void, and for the first time, began evaluating her prospective sexual partners' ability to fulfill her emotional needs, along with the physical. It had been a doomed effort almost from the start, however, because her gold standard was Jane Rizzoli...and now, she didn't know how she would dare to open herself up again, knowing that she could be so easily misled.

She closed her eyes at the feel of Jane kissing the top of her head. It made her feel safe, protected, but so very afraid. "I can still feel the knife on my throat," she whispered, the ghostly touch of the razor-sharp steel reminding her what a fool she'd been, how easily she could have died if Jane hadn't put the pieces together and saved her.

"It's not." Jane's voice, soft and sure in the darkness. Strong arms enfolding her protectively, the detective's taller frame curling around her, shielding her. Gentle kisses touching her temple, her cheek, then, unexpectedly, the spot on her neck where the blade had been. She couldn't help the sudden, softly drawn breath at the sensation and the answering increase in her heart rate.

Jane stiffened and started to pull away, but Maura held on, afraid of what would happen if she let go. She ended up on her back with Jane on top of her, dark eyes wide and startled in the moonlight.

"Don't stop," she breathed. It was dangerous, what she was feeling, but it was also warm and alive and so much better than the cold fear she had been grappling with. She didn't want to be left alone with the cold and her thoughts, alone in this house that had simply been a place she lived until Jane and her family had brought it to life and made it a home.

Jane swallowed, her expression unreadable, but she stayed, the kisses that she brushed over Maura's face careful, controlled. It felt good, but it wasn't enough now, might never be enough again, and she needed to know. Very deliberately, she framed Jane's face with her hands, looking into the detective's eyes as she brought their lips together.

_Oh, God._

She had braced herself for hesitancy, panic, even outright rejection, but there was not a trace of reluctance or holding back. Just the warmth of Jane's lips against hers in a fusion as effortless as drawing breath, as irresistible as gravity. Slim, strong fingers touching her cheeks as her own fingers wove into dark hair, drawing them further into each other, the kiss deepening, the taste of her intoxicating, the feel of her exhilarating. Gentle and tender and brimming with emotion, with the first flickering hints of what could so easily become a consuming fire.

She would willingly have foregone oxygen to prolong the contact indefinitely, and while physiologic function could not be denied, when they did part, it was not far. Jane hovered over her, close enough that she could still feel the detective's heart racing against her own sternum in counterpoint to her own rapid pulse. The dark eyes were still wide, but the surprise had been joined by a new intensity: a gentler version of the piercing stare that she directed at suspects during interrogation. She searched Maura's face intently, as though seeing it for the first time, seeking answers to some indefinable mystery.

"Tell me." Again, she more than half expected Jane to feign ignorance, redirect, or use any of the other tactics that she employed to avoid discussing uncomfortable topics, but she had to ask, needed to hear a confirmation of what the kiss had told her.

"I love you." The detective's husky voice cracked a bit, but the words came without hesitation, and the steady gaze never wavered. Her heart soared, but on the heels of the admission, she could see the fears starting to crowd in: the what-if's, the doubts and worries unfolding in that incredible mind. 'Deceptively complex', she'd called Jane early in their friendship, and the words had been a vast underestimation of the woman who considered herself nothing more than a blue-collar gumshoe. Intelligent and intuitive, compassionate and loyal, utterly fearless where her own safety was concerned and fiercely protective of those she claimed as her own. Somehow, this amazing woman had let Maura Isles in, trusted her, opened up to her to the point that she could read her thoughts now as clearly as if they had been spoken aloud.

"Don't stop," she whispered again, touching a finger to Jane's lips before she could voice her doubts. It was within the realm of possibility that if a romance failed, it would also irrevocably damage the friendship that had come to mean so much to both of them. But if falling was a possibility, so was flying, and that single kiss had given her a breathtaking glimpse of just how beautiful that flight could be. "I love you, too, and I need this. I need you." She let her fingers trace the line of Jane's jaw to her cheekbone, touching the features that she had long ago committed to memory. "Don't stop. Please?"

The fear melted away, leaving only the tender intensity in dark eyes and the brush of a thumb along her cheek, wiping away the track of a tear. "I won't," Jane promised softly, closing the distance between their lips once more.

And she was safe.


End file.
